


Si Vis Pacem, Para Bellum

by kawabiala



Category: The Borgias
Genre: Can be read as Cesare/Lucrezia or platonic gen, F/M, Gen, Indirect allusion to past abuse and marital rape, Post Season 2
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-20
Updated: 2012-12-20
Packaged: 2017-11-21 20:28:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,668
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/601751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kawabiala/pseuds/kawabiala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>"If you would have peace, prepare for war."</i> -Latin saying, quoted in <i>De Re Militari</i> by Vegetius</p><p>Cesare looks at the future with anticipation; Lucrezia has doubts. Post season 2.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Si Vis Pacem, Para Bellum

**Author's Note:**

  * For [meridian_rose (meridianrose)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/meridianrose/gifts).



The sun was still high over Rome, and from their perch on the window seat both Cesare and Lucrezia had a good view of the shining walls and rooftops of the immortal city. She leaned back against his chest, her head resting on his shoulder.

“Married life seems to agree with you, sis," Cesare said. It was true; there was color in her cheeks again and looking down at her face, he could see the upward turn of her lips, feel her contentment radiate from her. Was it the bridegroom himself that made the difference, or the lack of pressure to choose one, he wondered.

“He loves me. I think he will be kind.” Her smile grew rueful, turned inward. “He is a dear boy, my Alfonso,” she said to herself after a moment. “Perhaps I will love him someday, but I will not count on it.”

“That is what you aspire to in a husband, then - kindness? You talked of love, not so long ago.”

“Long enough ago to have learned better,” she retorted. “I’ve learned in the meantime that only a foolish woman looks for love in the marriage bed. No, better a husband who is kind; at least then I will be free to seek out love where I can find it. You may have escaped the trap of your birth, Cesare, but I will never be free of mine.”

“No cardinal of the Church has ever given up the cloth before, sis. Perhaps you will be the first woman to give up her sex.” She shifted against him to look him straight in the eyes, and he grinned at the glare she leveled in his direction.

“Do not mock me, brother.”

“Never, my love,” he said. He reached out to twine his fingers with hers, both in affection and in silent apology. “Now that I am no longer a man of the cloth, I will need to try marriage for myself sooner or later.”

“Knowing our father, it will be sooner,” she said. She fiddled absently with his ring finger, her fingertips tracing the groove in his flesh where his cardinal’s ring had sat for so long.

“His Holiness has written to every court in Europe already,” he said. “You complain about our father using his children as coin in the market - well, perhaps it will give you some satisfaction now that my turn has finally come.”

“Give thanks that you will be the buyer, not the slab of beef on the block,” she said, not bothering to hide the bitterness in her voice.

Cesare laughed, no real amusement behind it. “I am up for sale just as much as you were, dear sis. The lords of Christendom will bid high for the Pope’s favor. Our father just waits to see who will bid the highest, whether the lady in question is a beauty or a withered crone - and I will marry where he orders, same as you did.”

“Except you have nothing to fear from your wife, whereas I...” She let her words trail off. Cesare did not need her to finish the sentence to know what she was thinking of. Involuntarily, his fingers tightened around hers, but though it could not have been comfortable she didn’t wince.

“While I live, while our father is pope, no man will dare harm you. Giovanni Sforza is dead,” he said roughly. “And any man in Italy who thinks to treat you the way he did, knows full well that he will meet the same end.”

“Then I am lucky to have a brother such as you,” she said. Her voice held none of the lightness it would have years ago, weighted with the knowledge of things he’d always sworn to keep from her. He had failed, but at least he had revenged his failure. With light fingers she traced his palm as though she could feel the blood of her first husband on it still.

He sometimes remembered the warmth, the stickiness of it on his hands - but the only regret he had was that the man’s death had been quick and clean. If Cesare had ever taken his duties as a priest seriously, he might have feared what that said about his immortal soul: without regret, there could be no absolution, after all. Yet another reason to be glad that he was no longer a cardinal of the church.

“What price will a pope’s son fetch on the auction block, I wonder?” she asked idly after a few moments of silence, and he knew her bleak mood had passed for the time being. “A princess? A duchy?”

"That is the plan," he said, letting his satisfaction color his tone. _Everything was possible now,_ he thought, and marveled that the weeks that had passed had not yet dulled the way his blood sang at the thought of what lay ahead, of what was finally within his grasp. “And more than that - an army, too, if all goes well."

"An army?" Lucrezia frowned. “For what war? The French have left Italy, and we’ve made our peace with the Sforzas. There is no one in Italy who dares stand against us now.”

"Not now, perhaps, but there will be soon enough," he said. “We have a pack of jackals on our doorstep, and though they may be licking their wounds for now, they will soon be back to savage us again. We will never be secure until they are gone.”

She sat up and looked at him in dismay. “So that is what we have to look forward to, then; another invasion?" She shook her head. "Your marriage may yet birth a monster that will consume us all.”

“On the contrary, sister," he said. "If we sit here and do nothing, our enemies will devour us."

“Which one will it be, then? Spain, this time? Or France again?”

“Our father favors Spain," he said with studied neutrality.

“And you?”

Cesare said nothing.

She let out a sharp, incredulous laugh and stood, her agitation driving her to her feet. Two steps away from his seat, she whirled back to face him. “You would ally with France? Have you forgotten their last invasion? They would have sacked Rome and deposed our father if they had the chance!”

He kept his tone patient and conciliatory. Lucrezia had faced the horrors of France's last campaign, and she no doubt feared that they might repeat themselves. And, he reminded himself, she was an Aragon now, in name at least. Rodrigo had promised Naples to the house of Aragon, and they would not be happy if he allied with their greatest enemy. “Spain has turned its eyes toward the New World. There is a new king in France these days. If we do not ally with him, our enemies will certainly not scruple to do so.” 

“That does not mean that we should throw all of Italy to the lions!” The intensity of her reply startled him, and perhaps her too. She looked away and was silent.

"'Crezia," he said placatingly, leaning forward. "Trust me; this is what is best for our family. This is the time to secure our position; we have a chance now to grow so powerful that none of our enemies will dare touch us. Our position in Rome is still precarious."

"I am beginning to think it always will be," she said softly, and after a moment turned back to face him. "And you think you can lead this army to victory?"

 _It is what I have been waiting for my entire life,_ he thought, but said instead, "I have led men before."

"One victory and a few tricks do not make you a general, Cesare," she said.

It stung more than it should have, but Cesare swallowed his hurt and made himself smile. "Our brother had no victories, and was yet acclaimed a general. By that standard, I am practically Caesar already."

Her mouth twisted, and she avoided his eyes. "I should hope you have more to recommend you to the task than merely being more competent than our late brother," she said. "Otherwise we truly are all doomed."

"Lucrezia," he said, rising to his feet. He put a hand on her shoulder and turned her gently until she looked into his eyes. "I have been to the Romagna," he said. "I have walked the streets of Forli, Imola, of Rimini. The people there detest their rulers; all of Romagna is a fruit ripe for the taking - if we have the courage to do so."

“So you would be tyrant instead of them?" she asked.

“I would rule in the name of the rightful lord of the Papal States,” he said. “The lords of the Papal states sit in our castles, ally with our foes, and feast upon the revenues that should by rights be ours. For too long they have defied Rome with impunity. It is hardly tyranny to take back what belongs to us by right.”

She stared at him for a long moment, as though surprised at something she found there. It was not a look he was used to receiving from her.

“I have never seen you this besotted, brother,” she said at last.

His brow creased in confusion. "Besotted?" he repeated.

"With war," she said. "What mortal woman could possibly compete with the charms of Nike?"

Her words were meant to accuse, perhaps even to hurt, but he still reached out and tucked a lock of golden hair behind her ear. "You could, dear sister," he said, wholly earnest for a moment before the corner of his mouth quirked upwards wryly. "But no other woman would stand a chance."

They stood there, his hand on her hair, for a long moment, until she averted her eyes.

"I must return to my husband," she said, and left him there to contemplate the sun alone.

At last he had everything he wanted, he reflected, and refused to think of what he might yet lose.


End file.
